Good Enough
by cobra-2k
Summary: Humorous romantic one-shots! Who ever said all can I do is grimdark? The first two are Laharl/Flonne, but the most recent is Mao/Beryl.
1. Good Enough

Notes: Yes, yes, yes. I've decided to once again take a break from insanity, darkness, and death (the last time I did this was a Yuffie/Sora fic so saccharine that it drained my will to live) to write something...ugh..._happy_. Heck, I might not even swear as much as normal. See? I wrote "heck" there. I don't even say "heck" around my little sister. The sad bit is that they say far worse in Disgaea itself. It's ironic, fools.

* * *

Sweat dripped down Laharl's brow as his hand rested on the doorknob to Flonne's quarters. Obviously, the polite thing to do would be to knock before entering, but Laharl, Overlord of the Netherworld, was nothing if polite.

Laharl took his hand off the knob to rub his side. It was more of a stalling tactic than anything else, but he was still somewhat sore from his fight with that kid with the glasses. Little brat thought that just because his father was the Overlord it meant he was...oh, wait.

Thinking that he was now sufficiently annoyed, Laharl ran through how the whole thing was going to go in his head. He gathered a deep breath and opened the door.

"Hey, Love Freak!" he shouted as he kicked open the door and slouched in the frame.

"Ah, Laharl!" Flonne said as she quickly covered up her chest, despite being fully clothed. Laharl figured it must be some kind of feminine reflex.

"Hey, I'm the Overlord and I expect to be called that!" he growled as he inspected his claws nonchalantly. Ordering people around is what an Overlord does best.

"Oh, yes, Overlord Laharl, did you need something?" Flonne asked, her eyes widening in happiness.

"Ha!" he laughed casually. "As if _I_ could ever need something from _you_! I was just about to have dinner and thought you might enjoy the honor of sharing my table. We're giving a tour to some honor students from another Netherworld, so I had the castle prepare a banquet for the occasion."

Flonne's eyes lit up in anticipation. "Oh, I knew that hosting those honor students was going to go well! It was such a good idea, Overlord Laharl!"

"Yes, it was, wasn't it?" he said, grinning slyly. She had even remembered to call him "Overlord!" Things were looking up.

"Except, oh, Overlord Laharl, I don't know what I should wear!" Flonne frantically started searching through her closet, passing by dozens of (it seemed to Laharl) identical white dresses.

"No need to worry, I've already prepared something," Laharl said as he snapped his fingers. A couple of Prinnies waddled up to him and handed him two cases. He tossed one of them to Flonne. "I think this dress should fit you nicely."

She took it out and gasped. "It's so beautiful! Thank you, Overlord Laharl!" she said ecstatically as she held the black lace against herself and danced in place. "And the spiderweb collar is lovely!"

Laharl smiled as he took out his new cape and offered Flonne his hand. "All right, then, we should get going!"

"Oh, Overlord Laharl!" she cried, and hugged him. "Please marry me!"

He sighed and patted the back of her head. "Oh, well, if you insist."

Then they got married, and their children conquered the universe.

Yeah, that was how it all played out in Laharl's head. Which is odd, considering the fact that a good deal of all that had absolutely no basis in reality. But that's Laharl for you. What actually happened was quite a bit less...smooth.

"Hey, Love Freak!" he shouted as he kicked open the door and slouched in its frame.

This was met with silence.

Even though Laharl knew that looking cool involved rarely, if ever, making eye contact with the person you're talking to, he risked a glance around the room, and quickly ascertained that Flonne wasn't actually there.

Her room was, of course, large and splendid, he'd made sure of that once he'd convinced her to stay with him (though not as large or splendid as his own, naturally), but he could see that she'd been hard at work with giving the place her personal touches. The bloody wallpaper had been stripped away and replaced with a baby blue, and in place of skull candelabras, there was a chandelier dripping with prisms that refracted colorful light all around the room.

Of course, the occupant of the room was still a resident of the Netherworld, and Laharl was pleased to see that it showed. A collection of shrunken heads sat on the dresser, and the vanity mirror was definitely of succubus design. How could you tell? Well, I'll leave it to your imagination.

The poster bed was probably what attracted Laharl's attention the most. It was large, far larger than it needed to be for Flonne's size, and it stood a good foot higher off the ground than Flonne was tall, making Laharl imagine her having to literally climb into her bed. It was definitely a far cry from the coffin he slept in, and he could swear he felt a headache coming on just from contemplating how soft it must have been.

Laharl tapped his foot impatiently and called out Flonne's name. Still no reply.

"Ah, whatever!" he said to nobody. Crossing his arms in impatience, he started pacing around the room. Five minutes later, there was no sign of anyone.

Since he had spent a good two days planning on how best to ask Flonne to come to dinner, Laharl wasn't in the best of moods, nor was he at his best physically. By which I mean to say, he hadn't slept for a while, and that bed was just so invit- hideous, so _hideous_ that it couldn't be all that bad, after all a bed's a bed, right?

And before Laharl knew it, he'd clambered up onto Flonne's bed and collapsed onto one of her enormous pillows. It was stuffed with harpy down. Sensing how ridiculous he must have looked, Laharl looked around the bed and saw a large stuffed Prinny doll. He quickly punched it. Since he now had the pretense of having come onto the bed to victimize something, Laharl promptly fell asleep, a distant part of him realizing that, should Flonne return to see him like this, he'd never be able to live it down.

"Um, Laharl?"

Oh, that was _not_ a good sign.

"Laharl?"

The Overlord opened his eyes and was greeted by the blurry face of his angelic comrade. Wasn't there something he'd come in here to say? Too late, he'd just have to wing it and hope he could save face somehow. "What?"

"Um, why are you in my bed?" Flonne lifted a hand to his forehead. "Are you feeling all right?"

As if being in such close proximity to her wasn't enough, her actual touch was simply too much for Laharl. He jerked away from her hand and hid his blush by turning away and pretending to stretch. "I'm fine! I was just wondering how anyone could stand to sleep in such a gross bed as this!"

Flonne giggled behind him. "Well, you seemed to be enjoying it. I was watching you sleep for an hour or so before I woke you up. You were so cute!"

Dangit. Overlords were _not _supposed to be cute. "I was not!" he retorted, summoning all his sagacity. "You're just a weirdo! Who watches somebody else sleep, anyway?"

She just kept laughing. Laharl only got the nerve to look back at her after she'd stopped. "So, what do you want?"

"Um, if you came into my room, shouldn't _I_ be asking that question?"

Laharl cursed at himself in his head. Obviously! Another mistake like that, and he might just call the whole thing off. "Yeah, well, you must have had something you wanted when you woke me up. And since I'm the Overlord and listen to the will of the People, you go first."

"Oh, well," said Flonne, "I was wondering what you were doing in my bed."

Feeling another blush coming on, Laharl snapped, "And I already told you. Anything else?"

"Oh, yes!" Flonne brightened immensely as she grabbed Laharl's hand. "You remember how I invited those honor students from the other Netherworld for a tour?"

"Um, yeah, I think I remember you mentioning that," he replied, trying subtly to get her to let go of him.

"Well, I talked to the kitchen staff, and they said that they were going to have a banquet in their honor, and I was hoping you'd sit with me!"

Wait, what?

That was exactly what he'd come in here to ask her about. Only, _she'd_ suggested it.

So it just wouldn't do.

"As if!" he said. "An Overlord such as myself can only dine with royalty, like that glasses kid!"

It would someone of average intelligence to predict Flonne's reaction to this. So naturally Laharl was shocked when she looked crestfallen. "Oh...I just thought that since you're always fighting with Mister Mao, you might like to sit by me instead..."

"D-Don't be ridiculous!" he said, louder and more forceful than he really meant. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them, because he could see the shimmer in Flonne's eyes that meant she was holding back tears. "I mean," he began, and immediately saw Flonne perk up, "I mean if you're gonna be all by yourself, then I guess we can share a table."

"Oh," she said, "I wouldn't be alone. There's Etna, and Miss Jennifer, and Mister Alma-"

"I mean," he said, starting to panic. "If that Mao kid starts to get on my nerves, then I'll come over after I beat on him a little. No sense destroying dinner just because he's being annoying." And, although he would never, ever admit it, Laharl did get just a bit jealous on the rare occasions Flonne brought up that Almaz brat.

All of Flonne's joy was back in full force. "Thank you, Laharl!" she said as she finally let go of his hand and jumped off the bed. "Now, what should I wear...?"

Now was Laharl's big chance! He could get the best tailors in the Netherworld to make them the best outfits imaginable, but...Laharl's mouth moved too fast for his brain's liking. "Just wear what you usually do. You look good already."

At that point, every living creature across the entire universe, every demon, angel, human, and monster that happened to be drinking something at the time, did a spit-take.

Flonne turned to Laharl in utter amazement, and Laharl realized a second too late that he had, in fact, just said what he though out loud. There was no way to possibly conceal the blush on his face, and no way that even someone as dense as Flonne could construe what he had just said as anything but a compliment. Still, he had a reputation to uphold. "I-I-I mean, there's nothing _you_ could do to possibly look _better_!" he spat, trying (and failing) to add the appropriate amount of sarcasm. Seeing the blush and heartfelt smile on Flonne's face, he stormed out of the room, only taking the time to yell back "Don't be late!"

Laharl slammed the door as hard as he could and managed to walk a few feet before his knees gave out, and he tripped onto a wall before sliding down it.

Flonne sat down on her bed, the smile refusing to come off her face.

Laharl had gone in with the intent to make Flonne pursue _him_, and it had ended with his playing all his cards face-up.

Flonne had come home that day with the goal of getting Laharl mostly to herself at dinner that night.

For a moment, all was silent. After a few seconds went by, the same thought crossed the minds of both of them.

_Good enough_.

* * *

Ech, I feel like I just took an ipecac, and this was the result. Don't worry, I'll be back to Higurashi, Silent Hill, murder, and despair soon enough.

Unless, like, you want me to continue this for a bit. It's...it's not like I _want_ to, but if you _insist_...


	2. Dinner Party

Notes: My desktop background is a portrait of Napoleon! My ringtone is the Tank's theme from _Left 4 Dead_! I'm listening to the _Umineko_ soundtrack right now! My hero is Pyramid Head! My homepage is Gurochan! _So I don't have a soft spot for this pairing_. Understand? Good. I don't have any soft spots at all. My internal organs are brass. My brain is actually a series of jagged pieces of plutonium. MY FISTS, THEY ARE MADE OF STEEL.

* * *

It is part of an Overlord's duty to represent the Netherworld, in appearance as well as deed. This isn't as easy as some people think. It takes a lot to represent aesthetically all of the chaotic elements of the Netherworld. Architecture has to be grandiose, but not overly artsy. Dress has to be intimidating, but also needs to convey a sense of elegance. Movement has to be powerful, yet graceful.

Naturally, Laharl had problems with most of this stuff. Even though he had learned a lot of humility on his path to the title of Overlord, centuries of selfishness and boorishness were not easy to just unlearn. Of course, he had help with some aspects of the affairs of state, and he even insisted on learning to do things himself (not that he'd ever let anyone know it didn't just come to him naturally).

"You're in luck. The robes of ebonsilk you had commissioned the other day just arrived, Your Highness," said Aramis as Laharl walked into his dressing room. The only people allowed into this room without permission were Laharl himself, his loyal vassal Aramis, and a few of Aramis' best zombie servants. "You're sure to impress everybody with these!"

Aramis gestured towards the robe held by a zombie. The silk to make it had been taken from the spinnerets of a rare demon called a drider, and while its black and silver lining made it extraordinarily beautiful, it had cost him quite a sum of money to have made. "Good job, Aramis. Might be a little...flashy, though."

Aramis smiled. The Overlord rarely contributed his own thoughts to his decor (since they were generally shot down), but when he did, it meant he was more concerned about it than he was letting on. "Are you worried about something, sir? This seems kind of excessive for just some honor students."

Laharl removed his shawl and let the zombie help him into his new robes. "Well, remember, one of these honor students is the son of another Overlord. As annoying as he is, he still deserves a little respect."

Of course, he had very little respect for Mao, and had only had the clothes made so that he could impress Flonne with his superb sense of style. Granted, it was more _Aramis_' sense of style, but, meh. Aramis must have noticed him blushing a little, because he continued, "It's just, since Miss Flonne was the one who decided to give them a tour, and since you've been...what's the word...pining for her attention lately-"

Laharl flushed completely as he pulled the robe over his head so he could glare at his servant. "Hey! I haven't been 'pining!'"

"Of course, Your Highness, my mistake. Since you've been _moping pathetically_ about wanting her to pay attention to you lately-" he ignored Laharl's furious glare, "-I thought maybe you were trying to impress her. And, if that were to be the case, I thought perhaps you might like a few tips."

"Tips?" asked Laharl, his anger embarrassment held in check for his curiosity. "What would you know about women, anyway?"

"I do have a girlfriend, Your Highness."

"_What?_ Why didn't you tell me?"

"Somehow, it never came up in conversation."

Laharl resisted the unpleasant urge to envision Aramis taking one of his zombies out on a date, and gestured at him to continue.

"You see, Your Highness, you're not the flirting type."

"True," replied Laharl as he examined himself in the mirror. Aramis scurried over to him to make final adjustments to the clothes.

"Or rather, your flirting is different from most people's. They have a word for you in the human world: _tsundere_."

"Meaning?"

"Well, Your Highness, the rough meaning is that when you're in public with the person you like, you're a jerk, and when you're alone with them, you're nice."

"I'm not all that nice to Flonne even when we're alone."

"And how has that been working out for you?" At a grumble for Laharl, Aramis grinned. "That's the thing. You don't want anyone thinking you're going soft, so you might not want to seem to nice when everyone else is around, but when it's just you and her, you have to learn how to be nice. Compliment her." Seeing the horrified look on the Overlord's face, he quickly amended, "Okay, tell her you appreciate the work she does around the castle. And don't call her 'Love Freak.'"

Laharl swallowed and busied himself with adjusting his clothes, even though he could see nothing that stood out. "So...just be nice?"

"You say that like you actually know how to do it."

"Yeah, well..." Certainly, Laharl knew how to be nice to people, even if his lack of manners generally forbade being "polite." Granted, the only people he really showed his nice side to were Aramis and Seraph Lamington, the Celestial equivalent of the Overlord. Which wasn't to say that he was cruel to everyone else, just not particularly nice to them.

Of course, everybody knew that Laharl was rather friendly, only poorly disguising his kindness as indifference and selfishness. He didn't do a very good job of hiding his _dere_ side, but in his mind, he had an image to uphold.

Aramis patted him on the back on his way out. "I'm sure you'll do fine, Your Majesty. Just look for an opening to get her with you, and then pretend that the others aren't there."

Dinner was most certainly not a tawdry affair.

The grand hall of the Overlord's Castle was the size of a town, and while the tables were nowhere close to full capacity, seating the choice vassals of the Overlord and the other Netherworld's honor students took up quite a lot of space.

Mao poked at his food warily with his fork. Laharl understood the sentiment (in fact, he admired the kid's foresight), but couldn't help being a bit annoyed. "Hey, Mao, don't you think that piece is above suspicion at this point?"

Mao glared at him, although Laharl could hardly take his large glasses all that seriously. "If it were _me_, I'd make sure that the poison was in the piece of food you'd eat last, so that you'd let your guard down once the first few bites were safe! And so," he said as he leaned back in his chair, "I'm not going to play into your hand! I will instead have this food _tested_!"

Laharl resisted the urge to hurl a meteor at him. "Mao, you've had every single piece of food that you've eaten tonight tested. _After every other bite_."

"Silence, fool!" Mao shrieked as he leapt up from the table. "You think you can outwit _me_, super-genius Mao? I have an Evil Quotient of-"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Laharl interrupted. This was at least the eighth time he'd heard this particular speech. He'd heard the one the started with "Do you know who I am?" at least ten times, the one with "Did you think I would be so foolish as to..." around fourteen, and at least twenty that just consisted of maniacal laughter. "Do what you've gotta do."

"Hey, slave!" Mao barked at the table nearest to them.

Even Laharl could hear the long-suffering groan of Almaz as he ran over to Mao's side, knowing what his insane master wanted, since it was the umpteenth time he'd called upon him. "Right away, Master Mao." He shoved the remaining piece of the dumpling of the damned into his mouth, flashed Mao a weak thumbs-up, and returned to his own table, where he was sitting with Flonne, Etna, Jennifer, and some other losers.

"Well played, Overlord," said Mao as he applauded sardonically. "_Well played indeed_."

"Mao, the dumpling wasn't poisoned. Nothing's been poisoned."

"Oh, you'd like me to believe that, wouldn't you?"

"Mao, Almaz has eaten about half your food for you. I don't even think he ordered anything for himself. Do you do this a lot?"

Mao crossed his arms and grinned. "Oh, it's essential at school! The cafeteria food is so bad, you wouldn't be able to tell if it was poisoned from the taste! That's why I have my personal food-testers on hand at all times."

Given Laharl's relative disdain for humans, he couldn't exactly say that he pitied Almaz, but did, on some level, think Mao was being a bit harsh. Granted, he'd done far worse when Gordon first became his vassal, but Gordon was a moron, and Almaz seemed all righ-

Wait. Was this what Aramis had advised about? An "opening?" Perfect!

"Hey, Adamant!"

The two tables looked up in shock. It was the first time Laharl had raised his voice throughout dinner. "Yes, Overlord Laharl?"

"Bring your table over here and sit next to your master. It'll make it easier on all of us. Watching you run back and forth every minute is starting to make me feel sick."

"Right away, sir!"

And just like that, the tables were together. And Flonne was sitting next to him. Laharl looked over to her and winked, just quickly enough so that only she would see it. She giggled and resumed eating.

"Hmph! I never thought you'd let go of your pride long enough to dine with humans!" said Mao as Almaz and Jennifer sat down on either side of him. "I would never allow slaves to sit near my table!"

Laharl took a second away from admiring Flonne to stare at Mao. "Didn't you just say that you have him test all your food whenever you eat at the cafeteria?"

The table went quiet as Mao glared silently back at him. Finally, he replied, "Well played, Overlord. _But this battle of wits is far from over_!"

"I beg to differ. So, Adamant, how do you like my castle? I'm sure it's a nice upgrade from your digs at school."

"Yes, sir! It's incredible, sir!"

"Liar," tauned Mao gleefully. "You know that we honor students get much better perks than some measly Overlord!"

Before Laharl could interject with a witty retort (or, more likely, a sword pointed at Mao's face), Etna leaned over Jennifer to join in. "Oh, really, Mao? If that's true, I might just consider enrolling at your school..."

And just like that, the three of them started talking about how much better it was at the Nether Institute than at Laharl's castle. He would have told them what for, but as he was about to, he noticed that the three weren't paying him any attention. And on top of that, Jennifer was in animated conversation with some witch from the Institute. That left...

Laharl turned his head to Flonne with what he assumed was a welcoming smile on his face (it was really more a leering grimace). "So...Flonne. It was...a good idea. Inviting the students here, I mean. I think they're having fun."

Flonne turned to him in confusion before smiling brightly. "I thought you didn't like the idea?"

"Well, yeah, at first I was worried, but I was-" he quickly checked to make sure no one was paying attention to him, "-I was wrong."

Flonne gasped. Was it possible? Had the words "I was wrong" _really _just left Laharl's lips? Given the bright blush on his face and the way he quickly reached for a glass to cover it up, it would appear so. She was so shocked she didn't know what to say for a second. "I...I'm glad it worked out, Laharl."

Oh, man. What had Aramis said? Something about...condiments? The salt was looking a bit iffy (should salt be blue?), but- no, wait, compliment, that was it. "You."

Flonne looked at him expectantly, but Laharl's jaws refused to move. He cast his eyes around the table again. Sure enough, everyone was still talking without him. Well, most of them were talking. Mao was gesturing for a Prinny waiter, and Etna was doing...something...to Mao. It looked frightening. Laharl willed himself to complete his sentence. "Look nice. In that dress, I mean."

"Oh, thank you Laharl!" She wasn't dressed too fancily, it was a dress like her usual white one, but with gold lining. "And your new clothes are really cool!"

"You like them?" Laharl asked in surprise. Nobody had commented on them the whole time. In fact, before Flonne said that, he'd written them off as a waste of money. But, if Flonne liked them... "Well, well, thanks. I'm glad you like them. I..." he trailed off. What else had Aramis said to do? Oh, right! "I don't say it, but I'm...I mean, thanks for all the work you do around here. I'm g-glad you're here."

Okay, now people had to just be humoring him. There was no way in the Netherworld that they didn't notice the cherry color spread across his face. But no, they seemed occupied. Jennifer was listening to the witch talk about some game she was playing with humans, and Adamant was trying to restrain Etna, who was...either kissing Mao or trying to murder him. Either way, he looked very uncomfortable. Still, Laharl figured, the point was that they weren't bothering him.

Still, there was no way he could let things stand. He quickly turned to Flonne and rolled his eyes. "I mean, it's good that you're where I can keep an eye on you. No telling _what_ sort of trouble you'd be getting into if you were still in Celestia."

Unfortunately (fortunately?), Flonne didn't seem to be fooled. "Laharl..." she said, as she...oh, no. No, she wasn't allowed to do that. Nobody was allowed to do that!

Still, as Flonne's hand got closer and closer to his own, Laharl found that he was unable to jerk his hand away. But if he didn't, then she'd be holding his hand! On the table! _Where everyone could see!_

But, at the very last moment, Etna finally managed to resuscitate Mao, who had started choking on one of his few remaining pieces of food (Almaz didn't know CPR, and Jennifer and Beatrice the witch were too busy talking). As he coughed and sputtered for air, Mao thrashed about and bumped the table with his knee, knocking Laharl's hand far enough out of the way that he could safely move it away from Flonne.

"Are you an idiot or something?" Laharl shouted, half-relieved and half-disappointed. "What kind of honor student are you that you choke on your food?"

As Almaz pounded him on the back, Etna quickly claimed that the experience had been "gross," and grabbed a glass of water. The two blondes were still talking. Mao was clearly gearing up for a major accusatory rant against Laharl, who could feel the headache coming on.

He tuned out the honor student just as soon as he opened his mouth. He nodded occasionally and rolled his eyes at what seemed like the right times, but every so often he glanced to his side at Flonne. She seemed...sad.

Oh.

Oh, _fine_.

Laharl subtly put his hand at his side below the table. He continued to pointedly ignore Mao, who was just getting to the part where he'd "expected such treachery _the whole time!_" and showed no signs of stopping.

It took her a few seconds, but eventually Flonne glanced aside at Laharl and noticed that one of his hands was at his side, palm up. She smiled in spite of herself, and, as subtly as she could, took his hand in hers. And even though it was small, so small that even she barely noticed it, Flonne could see the hints of a genuine smile tugging at Laharl's lips, even as the vitriol of the "Nethworld's number one honor student" washed over him.

No one could see what they were doing, too preoccupied with laughing at Mao. And Flonne understood, even if she would rather that Laharl be visible with his affection. Still, it was definitely a start.

* * *

Just for the record, driders are from Dungeons and Dragons, and Beatrice the witch is from Umineko no Naku Koro ni. Which I love. Because it's cerebral and violent. And I like violence. Not lovey-dovey nonsense such as that which I've just written.


	3. A Most Deadly Malady

Notes: Breaking up sucks. Here's to escapism! I got a bit tired of Laharl and Flonne, so instead it's another pairing I don't like at all and hate writing about.

You know, one day, to make up for all this, I'll write the absolute most depressing and grimdark Disgaea fic ever. Just you wait.

* * *

It was safe to say that Mao's private library was so large it was absurd. Of course, it was safe to say that most things about Mao were pretty absurd. Still, in an almost-infinite plane of the Netherworld which consisted entirely of the school which he was now the Dean and Overlord of, Mao's city-sized library stood out as ridiculous, even more so when one considered that Mao had perfectly memorized the location of every single book within it. This was made even more impressive by the library's...non-standard method of organization. Which is to say that everything was scattered about at random. Technically, anyone was allowed into the library, but most stayed away, for fear of becoming lost for all eternity wandering between the bookshelves. And, this being an Overlord's library, there was no guarantee that none of the books weren't both sentient and actively malevolent.

Which is why it surprised Mao to hear a familiar female voice calling his name from somewhere over by the spot where he'd left Overlord Zetta's autobiographical manga. He sped over to the source of the voice, annoyed. "Can't you see I'm very busy, Beryl?"

All Raspberyl could see was that Mao had a sticky note stuck to his head, so she wisely chose not to comment. She tried to avoid his eyes as she replied, "This'll only take a second, Mao. I need a book and I don't know where to find it."

Mao sighed. This was seriously cutting into the time he'd set aside to read _Tears of a Steel Moon_, a story about a secret agent trying to rid the world of nuclear weapons joining forces with a team of schoolgirls with magic powers trying to save the world from a vaguely evil legion of bad guys. For science, of course. "Can't this wait?"

Raspberyl shook her head vehemently. "I really need help, Mao! Please?"

And for whatever reason, she looked up at him as she said this, and Mao could see, just for a second before she turned her head away again, that she looked like she had been crying. She was breathing heavily. Could she be sick?

And because Mao didn't like seeing his friends unhappy, he agreed. "Okay, okay. I'll help you. What book do you need?"

"I need _Big Bub's Guide to Medical Stuff_."

"B. Z. Bub?"

"Yeah."

Mao scoffed. "What do you want that for? I thought you already knew about medicine from volunteering at the hospital."

"Well..." Raspberyl said nervously. "Someone's having some symptoms I've never seen before. I just want to learn about it on my own."

Mao shrugged. So that was it: she was probably all bent out of shape caring over someone else who was sick. "Whatever. I'll go get it."

It only took him about five minutes to find the book (it had been wedged in between _Beyond Good and Evil_ and _What Do Demons Do All Day?_) and get it back to Raspberyl. "Here you go. So, who's sick?"

Raspberyl took the book from him gratefully, though not without some difficulty, as it was about as large as she was. "Oh, uh, no one you know. Thanks, Mao. I'll get it back to you soon!"

"Whatever," said Mao as he walked away. There was research to be done.

And that night, research was what Raspberyl was doing. It took her a while, since the symptoms she was experiencing were common in a lot of problems.

_Periodic shortness of breath, increase in temperature, inability to meet a certain person's gaze, increased heart rate..._ Raspberyl tried to recount them all, and was horrified when she arrived at the result.

"The T-Virus?" she yelled aloud. "Oh, wait," she said as she read further. Apparently that one also required bleeding from the eyes for a diagnosis, and her eyes felt fine. That couldn't be it. And that left only one possible solution.

Most of the text was written in the usual style of a medical guide, except for this one entry, with Dr. Bub's typed-out technical language dropped in favor of a hand-written page dotted with hearts and rainbows, which simply read "You're in love, you idiot. Try holding hands."

"Well," said Raspberyl huffily as she shut the book, "that was just uncalled for."

Having taken a few days to prepare herself, Raspberyl now had the perfect plan. She adjusted her new clothes and called out Mao's name.

Within a few seconds, he was in front of her. It had only been recently that she'd started to notice a few things about him, and only now that she could stand to really look closely that she could appreciate them. His hair was always unkempt, but never dirty, and it spoke of how he dedicated he was to something he put his mind to. The sticky notes helped in that respect too, in their own way. And his face was so expressive...even when he was expressing anger and wicked delight, which were probably some of his most common emotions. Of course, right now it was expressing one of his rarer moods: confusion.

"Um, Beryl?"

"Yeah, Mao?"

"Why are you dressed like a ninja?"

Of course, the real reason was that the mask concealed her face, so Mao couldn't see her furious blushing. "It's a...learning experience."

"Uh huh," said Mao pensively. "And the sunglasses?"

So she could look at him without him looking directly at her, which would have made her faint. "It's bright out."

"We're inside," Mao pointed out. "And it's night."

"It's for developing darkvision."

"Right. What did you want?"

Raspberyl handed him back the book she'd borrowed. "Just giving this back. And I have something for you as a thank you." She handed him the small basket she'd brought over. "I made it myself!"

Mao tossed the book over his shoulder and peered into the basket. There was a large, heart-shaped chocolate inside. He stared at it for a while before responding. "Why?"

"I thought you might like it," said Raspberyl, hoping her voice didn't show how nervous she was that he wouldn't take it. After a while, he reached out and took a bite out of it.

"I do," he said thoughtfully. "It's not bad. Don't you want some?"

"N-no!" Raspberyl cried, a little more loudly than she'd intended. If she took her mask off to eat, she wouldn't be able to talk to him like this. "I had some earlier! That one's for you!"

"Hm," he said. They were quiet for a bit, and then Mao turned away. "Hey, Beryl. Were you sick?"

"Um...kinda. I guess. Why?"

"What was wrong with you?"

"Well...why do you want to know?"

Mao brought a hand up to his forehead. "I don't know. All of a sudden, I feel like I'm getting warmer...think my heart's beating faster, too. Dammit, were you contagious?"

"I hope so," Raspberyl said, before she could stop it. "I mean-" and then she wisely decided it would be a good time to run away.

"What was that?" yelled Mao. "Treason! Sedition! Heresy!" he yelled as he started to chase her around the library. When he caught up to her, he grabbed her and threatened, "You listen, Beryl, if you made me sick, then so help me I'll-"

And then, in his annoyance, he pulled down Raspberyl's ninja cowl and sunglasses. In her shock, she didn't even register what was happening, taking a few seconds to realize that not only was she looking directly into Mao's eyes, they were only a few inches from her own.

She would have passed out entirely, but before she could, Mao jerked away and spun around. He looked like he was fuming, but Raspberyl just made out a hint of redness in his face. "Great," he muttered, "for some reason, when I look at your eyes, it gets worse. You really _did_ make me sick!"

"Maybe..." she said softly, "well...the book said there was a way to make it better."

"Yeah?" he said, not turning.

Raspberyl stood next to him and cautiously took his hand in hers. Small as Mao was, he still towered over her, so she actually had to wrap his hand around her own. He didn't react.

"Is it helping?" she asked.

It took a while, but eventually he responded, "Yeah."

They stood there for about a minute, not looking at one another, before he spoke again. "Does this cure it?"

"The book said there's no cure. This kind of thing just helps the symptoms."

Mao nodded sagely. "Good enough."


End file.
